


Shape and Place

by A_Pen



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Camping, Identity, Jouto-chihou | Johto Region (Pokemon), Realism, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25101301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Pen/pseuds/A_Pen
Summary: After five years on the road as a trainer, nothing much fazes Lauren anymore. But when she goes exploring in Ilex Forest, she finds more than she bargained for.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12
Collections: The Zoroark Games - Summer 2020





	Shape and Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OldSchoolJohto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldSchoolJohto/gifts).



"You're a trainer, ain't you?"

The barstool squeaked as Lauren turned. The man was clearly a local. His worn flannel shirt matched the run-down bar.

_Gosh, how did you know?_

She swallowed the sarcastic words with a swig of her cider. The pokeballs were the obvious tell, but even without them her profession wasn't hard to guess. Her pants had more pockets than a fisherman's vest. They'd been olive green when she bought them three years ago, but time and dirt had worn them a pleasing brown. As for her boots ... Lauren glanced ruefully at the paper-thin soles. She'd taken to calling any spare cash "boot money," but between hormones for herself and nutrition supplements for her amoonguss, the money tended to get spent before it could be of any help to her boots.

"Yes. Was there something you wanted?"

The man smiled, showing a chipped front tooth. "A story, ma'am," he said.

It wasn't an unusual request, particularly in a town like this one, which was little more than an oversized logging camp. The only reason Lauren had bothered with the place was the sprawling forest that sat on their door-step.

"Sure," she said. "I've seen a thing or two."

She ended up spinning them a tale about a boutique in Castelia City. A designer coat-rack, imported all the way from Kalos, had been made with wood haunted by a trevanant. The pokemon came out to play every night, trying on different hats, moving coats from place to place, and rematching suits. As an after-thought, Lauren threw in one of the glamorous models who worked at the boutique falling for her. It wasn't the most realistic touch, but that was the fun of stories. You could be whoever you wanted in them.

The crowd lapped it up. A platter of fried corn and toasted nuts materialized, free of charge. A second mug of cider appeared on the counter, home-brewn and smelling strongly of apples.

"We've got a haunting of our own," one woman chimed in. "At the old Celebi shrine."

"That so?" Lauren perked her ears. The crowd didn't need any more encouragement. The shrine had been tended by an old priest, but he'd died last year. Not died— _eaten_ —another woman corrected. A demon visited the shrine and ate out his heart. It still lived there, she added, because travelers who went out that way now returned dazed and concussed, missing half their things.

Bandits, Lauren mentally translated from folklorese. Her mind was already made up, though. All kinds of rare plants and fungi made their homes at old shrines, and her funds were running precariously low.

Lauren pushed off her seat, but another trainer flagged her down before she'd reached the door. She'd noticed him earlier. The bar was small and his shiny clothing didn't fit the scene. Up-close, she could see his dirty-blond hair was cut close to his scalp and his vest—Lauren groaned internally—bore a navy blue star. Lauren found tournament team rivalries ridiculous, but it was hard to have grown up in Anville Town without picking up a bit of a grudge against Driftville's Bouffalant Boys. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Can I help you?"

"Always nice to meet another Unovan out in this backwater," he said. "How about a battle?"

"Sure." Lauren shrugged. "But let's keep it casual. Not much pokecare around here."

"You good for a hundred?"

She frowned. A hundred was a little high for a battle in rural Johto. "I'm not looking for anything drawn out."

"One-on-one then. Short and sweet."

"Fine."

They claimed an empty patch of ground outside. The man who had asked Lauren for a story volunteered as referee. A small crowd trickled out with them, eager for a bit of entertainment on a slow evening. The two white flashes came simultaneously, after the count of three. Lauren's ferrothorn, Bessey, reached out a laconic vine to taste the dirt. Lauren held back a grimace when a simisear appeared opposite them. _Why was it always fire-types ..._

The other trainer did a bad job concealing his smirk. _Asshole._ He must have scoped out her team back at the inn. The joke was on him, though. Lauren hadn't spent five years as a grass-type specialist without coming up with a few answers for fire-types.

"Get worked up," the trainer commanded, as she called out, "Spikes."

The simisear pumped its fist in the air. A red tinge appeared around its body. With each repetition of the movement, the red intensified. Iron spikes, about an inch in diameter, burst from Bessey's arms and scattered over the scrub. That would put a damper on any close-range attacks.

"Light it up, buddy!"

Simisear brought its hands together. Flame burst outward in a billowing mass from its palms. The scrub that covered the dirt charred upon contact. Bessey had already begun to dig herself into the ground. The flames caught on the tip of her final appendage before she dragged it out of sight.

Lauren's face burned from the heat of the fire, even though the flames hadn't come near her. That was _not_ keeping it casual. A flame attack like that could do serious damage and there was no healing around here more advanced than the contents of Lauren's backpack and the herbs she could scrounge in the forest.

"What are you playing at?" she snapped.

The trainer shrugged, his smile slightly patronizing as he answered. "What, you expect me not to use fire attacks against a grass and steel type? Give me a break."

Lauren mentally upgraded him from _asshole_ to _bastard_.

"It'll have to come up at some point," he told his simisear. "Get a fire punch ready and be careful of those spikes."

 _It'll have to come up at some point._ Trainers made a bad habit of speaking in cliches and worse, thinking in them. He probably expected a hefty metal body to launch slowly out of the dirt. He didn't expect the vine that wrapped itself around the simisear's foot and tugged. It fell backwards, letting out a pained hiss as a spike pierced its skin. A second vine snaked up to grab the simisear around its ruff. The third hovered above its belly.

"Burn away those vines!"

"Protect."

A coating of glistening light, like enamel, hardened over Bessey's vines. When the flames died down, the area around the simisear was scorched brown, but her ferrothorn's vines hadn't been touched.

"Leech seed," Lauren said in a hard voice. A pod split from the third vine and latched onto the simisear's belly. Thin tendrils shot out, twisting around the simisear's limbs, rooting in the furrows of its body. Each tendril began to shimmer with green light. The simisear let out a low moan.

"Come on, burn them off! It's only plants."

 _You're underestimating plants. You're underestimating seeds._ Her gaze was fixed on the pulsating pod. The tendrils grew stronger as they sapped energy. The simisear let out a few more streams of fire, but the vines glowed with green light and didn't wither. One wrapped itself over the simisear's mouth. The pokemon began to wriggle frantically, but the vines had locked on now and wouldn't relent.

Lauren waited. Some trainers called it the moment they saw the fight was lost. Others held out until every last drop of energy had been drained from their pokemon. She had an inkling of which kind of trainer she was facing.

The simisear had gone completely limp when the red light finally flashed. Lauren crossed the make-shift battlefield, the scorched scrub crunching under her boots, and held out her hand. For a moment, the bastard's eyes flicked to the side. If they'd been alone, Lauren bet he would have tried to do a runner. But the bar had spilled out to watch the battle, and they were on Lauren's side. He mumbled, "Good battle," and thrust a crumpled wad of twenties into Lauren's hand. She made a point of counting them before she nodded. _Boot money_.

The pokemon center here was nothing more than a family inn with a red-painted roof. There were just thirty rooms available and the only medical assistance was a consultation with the village doctor, whose expertise was limited to logging accidents. Back in her room, Lauren examined Bessey's injured vine with a frown. The tip had been badly scorched and yellow was already starting to spread downwards. She'd have to shed and regrow this one.

"Sorry," Lauren said, taking out her tin of polish and starting on Bessey's back, "I should have known that bastard would fight dirty once I saw the logo. Bouffalant Boys, Bessey, can you believe it?"

The ferrothorn let out her low groan that always sounded like a stuck window. She lifted one of her healthy vines and patted Lauren on the head, a gesture she'd picked up from Lauren's dad and never abandoned, even after five years. Lauren gave her a strained smile. She fell silent as she worked polish into each groove.

"Well, at least tomorrow we'll be out in the woods. We're going foraging, Bessey."

* * *

Once, Ilex Forest had spanned thousands of acres. Logging had made a heavy dent into the west side of the forest, but the east side still lay mostly untouched. That was where the shrine was located, according to the napkin map a friendly villager had drawn in the bar. The villager hadn't been able to give her an exact mile count, though.

At first Lauren made good time. The trail was wide and clearly marked. The forest on the outskirts of the village had clearly been logged before. Rays of sun cut through the foliage and warmed Lauren's back. Linnaeus, her leafeon, bounded next to her, stopping occasionally to sniff at plants along the trail. Suddenly, she let out a short bark. Lauren looked over and noticed distinctive bunches of crimson berries. Ginseng plant, and mature too, judging by the height. She spent the next ten minutes digging up the roots. Linnaeus nibbled contentedly at the leaves. When she had finished, Lauren dropped a few seeds in the furrow she'd dug, and continued on her way.

As she entered the third mile, the trail wound into almost nothing. Lauren had to move carefully, fixing her eyes to the ground to find where it started up again. Trees roots criss-crossed the path and thorny nettle reared up wherever she wanted to step.

Despite the difficult terrain, Lauren began to relax. The air smelled strongly of loam and peat. The rustle of birds overhead was the only noise. Her Bitflex, which had been vibrating off and on over the past miles, had finally fallen silent. The signal must have dropped.

Lauren smiled. Back in the wild. The real wild, not the carefully manicured routes that stretched under the highways between big cities. Out here, you were exactly who you wanted to be.

A half-hour later, after politely side-stepping a large metapod, she almost tripped over a person. She was resting with her back against the trunk of a broad tree. Her clothing seemed ripped from the front-page of Trainer Vogue magazine. A light blue zip-dress hugged her body. The pockets were far too small—probably decorative—and the leggings underneath were too thin for outdoor travel. One unlucky fall or encounter with a stray nettle bush and they'd sprout more holes than swiss cheese. A mass of dark red hair clustered at her shoulders. When she looked up, Lauren noticed that her face was very pretty.

"Hi," Lauren said. "Are you lost?"

She regretted the patronizing tone immediately after she'd spoken. But the girl didn't take offense. "No," she said, getting to her feet. "I am going to the shrine."

She had a strange way of speaking. Each word came out with a brief pause wedged between. Her voice was pleasant but low and timbery.

"Me too," Lauren said. "I heard some nasty rumors about that place in town, though. Bandits or something. You might want to rethink going there alone." Especially when you look like you've got more money than sense, Lauren added mentally.

"You're going too. So I wouldn't be alone?"

The girl wore a placid expression, as if she hadn't just invited herself along with a total stranger.

"I'm not going to slow down for you," Lauren warned her. "I want to get there before nightfall." It was afternoon already, later than she'd have liked.

"That is fine with me," the girl said.

Annoyed at the sudden acquisition of a travel companion, Lauren picked up her pace, half hoping the girl would fall behind. But when she looked back, the girl was only a few feet behind her.

"I'm Lauren," she said, giving in to the inevitable.

"I am called Thea."

Lauren kept alert for the sound of the girl tripping, but another mile passed in silence. She could almost imagine she was alone. Evening was drawing in faster than she had expected. The trees blocked out the light and turned the murky afternoon sun into an early twilight. Lauren was forced to cut her pace. If it got any darker she would need to bring out her flashlight. When they broke into a small clearing, she decided to call it a night and pitch camp.

Thea, she noticed, didn't have a tent of her own. It was August, still warm enough to sleep out in the open, Lauren supposed, but she wouldn't have recommended it.

For dinner Lauren made a savory soup from dry stock and the mushrooms and wild chives she had gathered along the way. The rich, aromatic scent of the soup filled the air. Thea hovered by the pot, but when Lauren held out a bowl to the girl a sudden strain crossed her face. "I am not very hungry," she said.

Lauren blinked. Previous traveling companions had called her mulish, dour, and a mushroom-loving freak, but no one had ever complained about her food. At least her pokemon seemed to have an appetite. Linnaeus watched the soup prep closely and wriggled her butt in anticipation when Lauren set a bowl down in front of her. Bessey and Arber, her amoonguss, had rooted themselves in the soil, making their own soup from the nutrients there.

"Why are you going to the shrine?"

Thea's voice startled her. For ten minutes, the only sounds had been the faint stir of leaves and the whining of venonat on their evening hunts. Lauren had forgotten that she had company.

"I'm a grass-type specialist. Always nice to have the chance to pay my respects to Celebi." And nose about for exotic mushrooms, Lauren didn't say. "What about you?"

Thea's mouth drooped. "I go often. My father is buried there."

"I'm sorry," Lauren managed after a moment. She tugged on the straps of the backpack at her feet. "Were you … close?"

"I have no one else."

They lapsed into uneasy silence. Lauren scrabbled for an appropriate reply before giving up. "I'll dig the latrine," she said and fled the campfire.

When she returned, Thea was wrapped up in her sleeping bag, only the curls of her red hair visible. The bowl of soup Lauren had offered her sat empty.

The morning dawned cool and gray. A low mist had settled on the forest overnight. It hung close to the ground, white tendrils curling around the trunks of trees. Lauren slipped on her rain jacket and cast Thea a dubious look. Her zip dress didn't look like it would offer much protection against the wet. But the girl gave no sign of discomfort.

"You'd better lead the way, since you've been here before," Lauren said. "Less than a mile now, do you think?"

"We are close." She stared at Lauren with a frown on her face. "That doesn't work out here."

"I'm sorry?"

"Your device." Lauren followed Thea's gaze down to the Bitflex on her wrist. "It doesn't work out here."

"Oh, I know that." Lauren hadn't realized she'd been fiddling with it. Dead dads. That kind of conversation could leave a person morbid. He hadn't left a voicemail anyway, so it couldn't have been important. She unbuckled the device, placed it into her lowest pocket, out of easy reach, and zipped the pocket shut.

"You must be from around here, then?" she asked, as they set back into the forest.

"What?"

"For your dad to have been buried at ..." Lauren trailed off. It wasn't any of her business.

As she followed Thea through the underbrush, her gaze was drawn to the white soles of the girl's shoes. There wasn't a speck of dirt on them, even after a full day's travel. _Whatever will they think of next!_ she imagined her dad saying, folding his newspaper over and reaching for a cigarette. Some cunning new method of polishing, probably.

After a half hour of walking, Lauren heard the sound of water gurgling. A broad stream crossed their path, fast-moving, though not more than a few feet deep. A log path had been set across it, but the planks were in bad shape. Lauren eyed the crossing dubiously. Thea, seeming unbothered, stepped onto it without hesitation. With a shrug, Lauren followed.

Half-way across, the plank gave out under her feet. She fell forward, knocking into Thea. They hit the water together. The stream was cold and clogged Lauren's mouth with the smell of mildew. She pushed herself up, coughing. Her boots squelched as she stomped her way out of the stream. They'd been waterproof once, but years of hard use had worn the coating away. She turned to see if Thea needed a hand, and faltered.

Thea stood a few feet away. There wasn't a trace of water or mud visible on her clothing. But Lauren had felt her body fall in with her! She couldn't have imagined that.

"We are very close," Thea said. She waited patiently while Lauren checked her Bitflex— kept safe from water-damage in its zip pocket— and wrung out her jacket. Shivering slightly, Lauren followed Thea onwards into the wood.

The shrine stood at the center of a grove of massive old trees. It was a circular building less than ten feet in diameter, constructed from stone. To its side Lauren saw a wooden hut where the priest must have lived. A large bush grew between the two buildings. The priest had kept it trimmed in the shape of Celebi, but since his death the delicate legs had sprouted new leaves and the slender neck had become squat with new growth. Lauren glanced around, but she saw no signs that the area was inhabited. The ground had no boot prints, just the occasional three-clawed pokemon print. Lauren crossed to the wooden house and poked her head inside. Empty.

"Are you coming?" Thea called out. The girl waited by the door to the stone building.

"Well, I … Don't you want to pay your respects alone?"

"You should come."

With a shrug, Lauren approached the shrine room. The heavy stone door groaned as she pushed it open. When it closed behind them, all light was blocked out except for a thin yellow line at the door's base. The air inside was cool and stagnant. Lauren took a few steps forward, expecting her eyes to adjust, but the darkness remained impenetrable. She caught a scraping sound like claws on stone. That was strange. Lauren hadn't noticed any pokemon nesting inside.

"Did you hear—"

Something knocked into her. Solid, heavy. Her head smacked stone.

She threw out her arms, as if trying to steady herself after the fact. Pain thrummed in her head. Something was tugging at her pokeballs. Lauren groaned in protest and rolled over. She reached one sluggish arm for the emergency pokeball that always hung from her backpack straps.

The creature pawed at her side, trying to turn her over. There. Her fingers closed around the ball. She flipped onto her back. When the creature snuffled forward, she threw the pokeball. White light burst. For an instant, Lauren could see. The ceiling was smooth and curved. There was no one else in the room. But Thea had been right behind her ...

The light vanished. A strained mechanical squeak echoed through the now dark room, the sound of a pokeball pushed to the edge of its capacity. Lauren staggered to her feet. She threw all her weight against the door until it gave way with a groan, and stumbled outside. Nothing followed her.

Had the capture taken? Where was Thea?

Lauren gulped in the fresh air. Her head still throbbed. Calm down. Think. She released Bessey and Linnaeus, and then stepped cautiously back towards the door. She braced herself as she heaved it back open, but no dark shape sprang out to attack. Sunlight fell on Thea's unconscious form. There was no sign of the pokemon that had attacked her.

The girl stirred. "W-what happened?" she asked shakily. She pushed herself up. "'Something hit me."

Lauren's pokeball lay a foot away, motionless. She walked over and picked it up, keeping one eye fixed on the girl. The pokeball clicked open. Empty.

"Got away," Lauren said. "Or did it?" She stared hard at Thea. "I don't think you've been entirely honest with me. So start, or …" Lauren nodded to Bessey and murmured, " … prepare a leech seed." The girl's eyes darted from Bessey to the door, calculating the distance. "I wouldn't try that if I were you. Come on. You're not what you seem, are you?"

Linnaeus let out a growl and Bessey raised a glowing vine. The girl flinched. Her form wavered, and then there was no girl at all, just a pokemon with dark fur and a red mane. Lauren blinked, and Thea stood there again.

"What are you?" Lauren exclaimed.

The not-girl tilted her head. "I am Thea. That is the name he gave me."

"He?" Lauren's forehead furrowed. "The priest?"

"Yes. My father."

"I don't understand."

The not-girl walked over to the dias and ran her fingers slowly across the stone. They made a scraping sound. The same sound Lauren had heard before.

"Unwanted children are left at the Celebi shrine. My father did his best to care for them. But I was unlike the others, from some far-away place. When he touched me, my shape changed to match his own. My fur to match his skin, my claws to match his five-fingered hands. He taught me his tongue and gave me this name. But now he is gone."

Lauren signaled to Bessey to back down. She stepped up to the dais and laid one palm on it. The stone there was cool.

"But why did you attack me?"

The not-girl avoided Lauren's eyes. "I am sorry. I did not want to hurt you. While Father lived, this place was held in honor by the village people. But now that he is gone, I have seen them cutting nearby trees. One day they will come to this place, and cut the sacred trees. That must not happen. I thought that if I frightened those who came here, they would fear the place, and keep away."

"I understand," Lauren said. "Listen, you don't have to worry about that. I'll tell any whopper you like when I get back to the village."

"Whopper?" the not-girl repeated.

"Untruth."

"You will change the shape of truth for me?" the not-girl said, eyes widened. "Then you have my thanks."

Neither of them spoke for several moments.

"There's just one thing I don't get," Lauren said slowly. "Why not wait here to ambush people? Why did you walk with me and spend the night by my fire?"

The not-girl ducked her head. "I miss human voices," she confessed in a low whisper. "The forest pokemon rarely speak to me. They know I am not their kind, no matter what shape I take. I think Father wished for me to be a human. That is why he gave me a human name."

"Yeah well, doing what Dad wants isn't always the way." Lauren sucked in a breath. Thea was staring at her. "Take my dad," Lauren said, keeping her voice blank. With her left arm, she tugged at the straps of her backpack. "He wanted a son. He thought he had one in me. And now he has a daughter. Bit of an unpleasant shock for him." She wondered if a pokemon capable of changing shape at will could understand the cost, in time and in money, that made the difference between hearing ma'am instead of sir in a back-water bar. "I don't use the name he gave me anymore. My name, I chose myself."

"Yourself? But how did you know it was right?"

Lauren shrugged. "I don't know. It felt right."

"Inside."

"Yes." When the not-girl said nothing more, but continued to stare at her, Lauren coughed and said, "Look, the real reason I came here was to dig up herbs. But I think I'd better head back now." She stepped towards the stone door, then hesitated. "I mean it, though. You can't live life based on what someone else wanted for you. If you do that, it's not really your life."

The stone door shut behind her with a thud.

* * *

That evening, Lauren held court in the local bar. Her clothes were still encrusted in mud and a bruise was turning purple on her face.

"I saw it myself," she told the attentive crowd. "I don't think it's a demon, though. If you want my opinion, I think it was the spirit of Celebi guarding the place, now that the priest is gone. I was lucky to get out of there with my life. If you want my advice, I'd give that place a wide berth."

She returned to her inn room with the warm glow of a job well done. Her Bitflex buzzed on her wrist. Dad again. He was being awfully persistent this week. She let the call ring out. After a moment, the device dinged. A new voicemail. She hesitated, finger lowered over the delete button.

Thea's face flashed through her mind. Biting her cheek, she raised the Bitflex to her ear and listened. When the message ended, she sat down on the bed and stared for some time out the window. Her face shifted. She grabbed her jacket, went downstairs, and plugged into the inn's wired internet. There was a flight on Thursday from Goldenrod to Anville. If she paid for the high-speed train, she could make that. Between her fingers, the cord twisted into anxious loops. _My surgery's on Friday. They say it's fifty-fifty._

None of it would be cheap. Lauren poked at the sole of her boot, still damp from the stream, and grimaced. Boot money. But some things were more important.

The train station was deserted the next morning except for a man in greasy clothing stretched out on a bench. His snores broke the morning quiet. Lauren kept one eye on him as she waited, flicking idly through her newsfeed. She hadn't told anyone she was coming home, just in case she lost her nerve at the last minute.

"Excuse me."

Lauren jumped. A boy had drawn close without her noticing. He had the look of someone new to the road, with a naive face and dark red hair worn long.

"Can I help you?" Lauren asked, flattening her mouth into an unwelcoming line. She wasn't in the mood to deal with people today.

The boy tilted his head to the side. "Yes. You did."

Red hair. And—Lauren's gaze dropped to his feet—impossibly white-soled shoes. She stared at him in surprise.

"You left the forest?"

He nodded. "I would like to see what life as a human is like," he said softly. "Perhaps then I can decide how I want to live, and as who."

A whistle sounded. The train was a streak of silver in the distance, growing larger with each second.

"This will take you far away," Lauren warned him.

Before he could reply, the train roared into the station. The boy flinched. He crouched in a way that didn't align with the curve of a human back and blinked rapidly up at the train. The silver doors slid open. A tired-faced woman emerged, hauling a large suitcase. A group of trainers followed her out, squabbling over a bad tournament call. A furret chased a quilava in circles at their feet. The conductor stepped out and lit a cigarette, his hands cupping the flame against the wind.

The boy straightened his back. "I am not afraid of far away."

"I wasn't either." Lauren looked to the distant line of trees. Beyond them was the ocean, and beyond that— "It's the going home that worries me."

"Why? The place does not change you."

"Sorry?" Lauren looked at him with a frown.

His mouth closed and opened. "I change based on what is outside of me," he said slowly. "The place changes me. But you change based on what is inside. So the place must not change you. Rather, you must change the place."

Lauren stared. The whistle blew. The conductor stepped back inside. Lauren followed him, the boy trailing behind her. The trees grew in thick clusters out the window. As the train picked up speed, they blurred into a daze of green. Lauren drew in a breath and settled back in her seat.

_I change the place, huh?_

Her breathing eased. Yes, it was time to face home.

**Author's Note:**

> This was an imitation of @OldSchoolJohto so if anything in here was your jam, make sure to check out her stuff! There is much, much camping.


End file.
